Realm 07 - A Touch of Honor (8 page)

“Lord Morse.” The duchess extended her hand to the gentleman, and Morse bowed dutifully over it.

“Your Grace.” He placed an air kiss on the back of the duchess’s hand. Then he turned an assessing gaze upon the baroness. “Lady Swenton.” A proper bow followed, and Isolde looked on with disgust as Lady Satiné offered her hand. This time, the gentleman’s lips lingered seductively upon her mistress’s skin.

“Please have a seat, Lord Morse.” The duchess gestured to a nearby chair. “Shall I send for tea?”

The gentleman brushed off her suggestion with a flick of his wrist. “I thank you, Duchess, but I mean to be on the road to London in the next quarter hour. I simply called to acknowledge your and the baroness’s superior company last evening. I told Sir Carter I have rarely experienced a more delightful evening.” Isolde thought the man’s praise a bold falsehood, but neither the duchess nor the baroness appeared to mind. “I am hoping two such lovely ladies plan to share part of the Season. Thornhill cannot be so cruel as to hide you both away from Society. We are sorely starved for beauty and intelligence in London.”

The duchess did not appear as flattered as was her sister. “The duke has not indicated whether he has business in Town,” she said judiciously.

“Would it do me well to take my plea to Thornhill’s door?”

The duchess tutted. “That action shall not be necessary. Thornhill is a man not easily persuaded, Sir. The duke chooses his own way.”

Lord Morse frowned. “I see. Then I will make my withdrawal.” He rose, and they did also. Yet, before he could exit, a light tap at the door brought a maid to her mistress’s drawing room.

“Pardon, Your Grace. Young Master Edward is awake. You requested to be informed immediately upon his being roused.”

The duchess blushed. “I fear, Lord Morse, I am a doting mother. If you will excuse me for a moment, I will give the boy’s nurse instructions for his care.”

Lord Morse bowed perfectly. “Certainly, Your Grace. Of all men of your acquaintance, I understand well the importance of a duke’s heirs in a household.”

With a regal nod of her head, the duchess said, “I shan’t be long. Speak your farewells to the baroness.”

Her sister had been no more from the room a few seconds when Lady Swenton asked, “How did you know I remained at Thorn Hall? Lord Swenton made it quite clear we were to depart for York today.” Isolde did not approve of the intimate manner in which Lady Swenton spoke to Morse, but she held her tongue and listened carefully. Isolde prayed she would not be given reason to report the baroness’s actions to Lord Swenton.

“Quite true,” Morse said with a ready smile. “Yet, when Lord Swenton called upon the baronet this morning, you were not strapped to the baron’s saddle.” His gaze slid suggestively over Lady Satiné’s décolletage.

As expected, the baroness’s chin notched a bit higher. Isolde had seen the girl dare more than one merchant not to extend her credit. Her mistress was a bold one, and the baron would soon learn his estimation of the former Miss Aldridge in error. “And so you thought to assume advantage of the baron’s absence?”

Isolde admired the man’s conceit: He realized his position provided him great latitude with women. “If you hold no desire to continue our acquaintance, Baroness, make no effort to convince your sister to travel to London. If you wish my attentions…”

The baroness turned her head at the sound of approaching footsteps. “I understand your implications, my Lord. Thank you for your call. I wish you a safe journey.”

As Lord Morse made to exit, the entrance of Thornhill and Sir Carter brought the man to an awkward halt. Baron Swenton’s associates appeared aghast at discovering Morse at Thorn Hall. After a brief exchange of bows, Sir Carter said suspiciously, “I thought you had set a course for the Capital.”

Before the others could respond, Thornhill demanded, “Where is my duchess?”

Isolde said softly, “Tending to Master Edward, Your Grace.”

Lord Morse shot a pleading glance to where the baroness remained, and she took the hint. Lady Swenton said boldly, “The baron and I made such a speedy departure last evening, Lord Morse thought I had taken ill.”

Thornhill’s eyes narrowed. “Lord Morse is most gracious.” He gave his sister in marriage a disapproving look. “As you can see, Lady Swenton is quite well.” Evidently, the duke and the baronet were as shocked as Isolde at viewing Lord Morse and Lady Satiné together. “As my wife has unexpectedly rushed off to tend to my heir, permit me to see you out, Morse. Thorn Hall’s passageways can be a bit confusing until one becomes familiar with them.” Isolde recognized the duke’s ruse: Thornhill meant to remove Lord Morse from Lady Satiné’s company.

“Certainly, Thornhill.” Morse was not the least repentant for his attentions to the baroness, but Isolde thought the young lord would present a different countenance if Lord Swenton were in residence.

“Is something amiss?” The duchess appeared behind the men. She held the hand of a petite girl, who had the distinct look of one from the Indian basin.

Thornhill smiled at his wife. “No, my Dear. I will escort Morse upon his way and then return to you. Sir Carter has come to speak to Miss Neville.”

“Papa?” the child tugged on the duke’s coattail. “May Mrs. Carruthers and I call at Huntingborne? I have another drawing for Simon.”

Thornhill caressed the child’s cheek. “You know I can refuse you nothing, but perhaps you should ask your Uncle Carter’s permission. It is his coin you spend to post the letter to Master Simon.”

She giggled as she slid her hand into the baronet’s. “Uncle Carter is easier to persuade than you, Papa.”

The baronet laughed easily. “Am I now? We will see if you speak the truth.” He knelt before the girl. “Ask me you favor.”

“May I present Lady Lowery a drawing for Simon?” she asked prettily.

Sir Carter winked at Thornhill. “I think not,” he said lightheartedly.

Yet, the girl had learned her lessons well. Instantly, she burst into tears.
Fake ones
, Isolde thought. “Oh, Darling,” the baronet cooed, as he caught the girl to him. “Uncle Carter meant only to tease you. Please do not cry, Sonali. Certainly you may send Simon as many drawings as you wish.”

“Truly?” the child said on a well-rehearsed sob.

“Truly, my Girl.” Sir Carter caressed Sonali Fowler’s dark tresses.

“Thank you,” she announced fully recovered. “You are the best of my uncles.”

Thornhill warned, “Beware, Lowery. Your ‘darling Girl’ spoke those words to the baron only yesterday. I fear our Sonali is learning the ways of charming coquettes.”

Sir Carter eyed the girl’s innocent countenance. “Do not pretend to know the way of men, Lady Sonali, or you may know the wrath of all your uncles,” he chastised mildly.

“Yes, Sir,” the child said, but the duke’s daughter did not appear repentant; she had gotten what she wished. It frightened Isolde that the girl had learned her manipulations at such a young age. Isolde wondered if she had ever acted thusly with her family.

“Come, Morse,” the duke said with a chuckle. “Leave my women to their maneuverings.”

Sir Carter stood to look upon where Isolde watched and waited. “Miss Neville, would you spare me a few moments of privacy?”

Lady Satiné bristled. “Whatever for? Miss Neville can have no business with you, Sir Carter.”

The baronet ignored the baroness’s protests, and Isolde knew immediately Sir Carter had not underestimated Lady Satiné’s ploy. The baronet may hold no experience with interactions with a calculating child, but Sir Carter recognized a woman attempting to defer questions of her entertaining a gentleman without her husband’s knowledge. “I assure you, Baroness, it is of no worry. I simply promised Lord Swenton I would assist Miss Neville with news of her father.”

“You perform a service for my husband? One designed for my companion?” she responded with incredulity.

“I perform a duty for a British citizen, which is my charge from the Home Office. As to my debt to John Swenton it will never be filled.” The cold hardness of the baronet’s tone appeared to quell the baroness’s bravado. “Swenton, as a gentleman and an agent of the Crown, is duty bound to ask for assistance in resolving Miss Neville’s situation. Now, if you will excuse us, I mean to speak to your companion and then follow Morse to London.”

The duchess interrupted, “Certainly, Sir Carter. Feel free to use the duke’s study. His Grace will wish to visit with his children before returning to his ledgers. If your session is not too lengthy, I am certain my husband would know pleasure in your praising his son.”

The baronet smiled. “I will endeavor to remark smartly on the boy’s fine countenance and quick intelligence.” With that, he motioned Isolde from the room. Sir Carter escorted her to an impressively masculine room at the other end of the corridor. “Please have a seat, Miss Neville.”

Isolde released the breath she had held. “I possessed no idea Lord Swenton had spoken to you.”

Sir Carter sat comfortably in a nearby chair. “The baron is a man of his word. He has shared what you told him of Mr. Neville. I thought I might ask you a few more questions. Lord Elgin is a friend of my father’s. I am certain if His Lordship knows anything of import, Lord Elgin will be pleased to assist. If not, I have other resources available.”

And so Isolde had told the baronet of not hearing from her father for well over a year and of following his trail to the Ottoman Empire and then to the Greek isles. ”Could Mr. Neville have returned to Dublin without your knowledge?” Sir Carter asked.

“I doubt it. I informed my uncles of my mission. They would have sent word if Papa returned. Generally, I would have traveled with my father, but I remained in Ireland to tend my grandmother; Papa could tarry no longer in our homeland for he held responsibilities to the mission.”

“Do your uncles know of your return to England?”

“Whenever Lord Swenton asked me to accompany the baroness, I sent notice immediately. I included the baron’s directions in case anything had changed.”

The baronet said earnestly. “We will have an answer soon. If you hold no objections, I will ask my agents in Ireland to question your uncles.”

Isolde’s eyebrow rose in amusement. “I would never send an Englishman to question the Irish.”

Sir Carter chuckled. “Neither would I.” He leaned closer. “The baron and my wife speak highly of you, Miss Neville. I pray you will consider me a friend.”

Isolde held his gaze for several elongated seconds before she made her decision. “I would assume if Lady Lowery placed her trust in a man, he must be quite remarkable.” She refused to look away, and neither did the baronet. “You wish to know what transpired prior to your entrance into the duchess’s drawing room.”

The baronet spoke with earnestness. “I would attempt to walk on water if Lord Swenton wished it.”

Isolde bit her bottom lip hard: Although she had known the baron for a little over a month, she, too, remianed intensely devoted to the man. Her words would be a betrayal to Lady Satiné. “I fear Lord Swenton will not know the happiness he seeks with the baroness.”

Sir Carter explained, “Thornhill has spoken of the rout between the Swentons last evening. The duke praises you for diffusing the situation’s volatility.”

A tear crept down Isolde’s cheek. “I have never experienced such raw anguish as what I witnessed upon the baron’s countenance. I was compelled to act upon his behalf.”

“Did Morse have an ulterior motive for his visit?” Sir Carter asked softly.

Isolde nodded reluctantly. “His Lordship encouraged the duchess and the baroness to enjoy part of the Season. The duchess suggested His Grace preferred his country estate, but when the duchess was called away to the nursery, Lord Morse pressed his suggestion upon Lady Swenton.”

“And you believe the baroness means to continue her flirtation with Falkenberry’s heir?”

Isolde spoke with confidence. “I believe Lady Swenton means to join the
haut ton
in Town, preferably without her husband’s company.”

John had taken a room at a familiar inn. He expected to overtake the men he had hired to escort his mother’s remains to Marwood Manor some time tomorrow. Although he knew two of the other inn guests who had greeted him upon his registration, he had politely refused their suggestion to join them for cards and drinks. Instead, he had ordered a meal sent to the small let quarters. His mood had not changed. Neither the hard ride nor the time alone had lessened the feeling of foreboding filling his chest.

“I have erred greatly,” he whispered to the empty room as he had crawled into the bed and had doused the candles, but sleep had not arrived. “Yet, there is no means from the inevitable.”

He would like to believe his offer of appeasement to Satiné would prove the trick, but John could not shake the dread growing in the pit of his stomach. He had noted how Lord Morse had clung to the shadows outside Sir Carter’s study. Had recognized how Falkenberry’s heir had meant to learn more of John’s business. He held no doubt His Lordship had set his sights on a tryst with John’s baroness, and his foolish wife could not or would not see through Lord Morse’s words of praise to discover the man’s true intent. “Is Satiné so naïve she cannot resist a man’s attentions? And where would that particular assumption leave us?” He grumbled, “I have observed many among the
ton
who regularly sleep in beds not their own, but I never thought I would know such deceit.” A groan of despair escaped before he could swallow it. “I must conduct a very honest conversation with my baroness. Without appearing jealous, I must warn Satiné of rakes and rogues, but if my wife persists in her triflings, I must remind her of her obligation to my title. I will not have another man’s child thrust upon me.”

He rolled upon his side. “If I insist Satiné produce an heir and a spare before she flaunts her beauty among the
haut ton
, perhaps the delay will provide me time to woo my baroness with kindness.” A nagging misgiving, however, announced another foolish desire had died. “I could face another scandal by asking for an annulment; yet, my retaliatory remark to Lord Morse regarding Rupert’s paternity could destroy that option.”

As quickly as the words had slipped his lips, John had known the error created by his hands. He had been livid when Satiné had so easily shared the news of his mother’s demise with Lord Morse. In Vienna, he had warned her of the necessity of keeping confidences; but his baroness had meant to degrade him before Falkenberry’s heir, and so John’s quick temper had taken control of his tongue. Before Morse, he had thought to place a claim upon Satiné–to announce their intimacy to the man who wished to become the baroness’s lover; therefore, John had announced the existence of the boy.

“Nothing to do but to counter Satiné’s temperament until she has the maturity to respond properly to the likes of Lord Morse.” With those words, John punched the pillow into a tighter ball to support his head. He inhaled a series of three deep breaths to prepare his scattered thoughts for sleep. John attempted to summon an image of his wife for it was his purpose to seek the good in their relationship; however, a ready image of Isolde Neville materialized. The woman was not as beautiful as Satiné, but she was superior to the majority of his female acquaintances. The lady’s expressive countenance always spoke of her concern for those in her life, and she had been delightfully warm as she had had nestled in his embrace. Her scent rushed to his olfactory memory. John kept the image before him as he closed his eyes for sleep. Surprisingly, the thoughts of his wife’s companion had a calming effect upon his composure as rest.

*

Late on the third day, John had ridden into the circle before Marwood Manor to be greeted by Aristotle Pennington. It should have surprised him to find the Realm’s leader upon his threshold, but it did not. “I suppose you made yourself at home,” John grumbled as he handed off the horse’s reins to a waiting groom.

Pennington smiled wryly. “I was of the understanding your household is in mourning. I called to extend my condolences.”

“You rode across several shires to stand beside me during my mother’s internment?” he asked suspiciously as he led Pennington into the house’s interior.

“Your Realm brothers may await a nod of your acceptance to their approaches, but I am not so careful of your emotions.” Pennington stepped into a well-lit drawing room, and John followed. “In your absence, I have set your staff to arranging a proper meal for our evening and to preparing the gravesite. The local sexton has begun digging the site, and the curate has been engaged to speak his Biblical readings.”

John petulantly flopped into a nearby chair, spreading road dirt upon the cushions. “Obviously, I could have remained in Kent; I need not have returned so soon.”

Pennington sat across from him. “You have always taken on the mien of a spoiled child when things are removed from your control.”

John wished to deny Pennington’s accusation, but he feared his tone might prove the Realm’s leader correct. “Then why do you bother with the likes of me?”

“Because you deserve better than the hand your parents dealt you.”

John closed his eyes to search for a bit of self-possession. “Do you recall the first time you called upon me in this very room?”

Pennington chuckled. “Very well. You listened semi-politely to my suggestion for you to join the Realm, refused my offer, and sent me packing.”

John sighed heavily, but his eyes remained closed. “I thought you had erred in your estimation: I possessed no attributes, which could prove beneficial to a British agent; yet, the moment the door closed behind you, I wished to summon your return. I wanted desperately to be the man you described.”

“And so you bought a commission in Wellington’s army?”

“I foolishly thought if I could learn to fight–to strategize–I might call upon you after the war and announce my new skills.”

Pennington chuckled. “At that point, I would have had no need of a military strategist; I would have refused you.”

John opened his eyes to study the Realm’s leader. “Why? If I became a fierce fighter, why would you turn me away?”

“In hindsight, you must realize what Wellington’s troops accomplished on the battlefield would never have proved effective in our operations. I chose you for your stern loyalty and your ability to judge people.”

John cringed with Pennington’s praise. “I suppose you know I have taken Satiné Aldridge to wife?”

“Sir Carter sent word. I was at Linton Park speaking to Worthing of an opening in Prinny’s inner circle of advisors. George III grows weaker by the day. It is important to guide Prince George’s opinions prior to his succession to the throne.”

“You mean for Worthing to become part of George IV’s Privy Council?”

Pennington smiled easily. “You always think several steps ahead of the others.”

John sat straighter. “Then why can I not judge what is best for me?”

Pennington did not respond for several long seconds. “It is difficult for a man to recognize affection when he has had no models upon which to base his opinions.” Another long pause followed. “Do you believe all is lost with your baroness?”

“God! I wish I knew!” John scrubbed his face with his dry hands. “For nearly two years, I have thought of little else, other than Satiné Aldridge; yet, these early days have been everything but idyllic.” Against his better judgment, John told Pennington every sordid detail, minus the lack of intimacy between him and his wife. “I followed Miss Neville’s suggestion and permitted my baroness to remain under Thornhill’s roof.”

“This Miss Neville appears to practice good sense,” Pennington observed.

John raised his hands in mock surrender. “Obviously better than I.”

Pennington assured, “You have acted sensibly. Acted honorably. The end result rests with Lady Swenton.”

“What if Satiné does not accept my strictures?”

“Then you will become the man you never wished to be. Your generous heart will turn cold where your wife is concerned. The baroness cannot remain in Town if you choose to refuse her bills. Whether Lady Swenton approves or not, this is still a man’s world.”

*

Pennington had remained with him for three days. The Realm’s leader had stood beside him as the sexton and several of Marwood’s grooms lowered Lady Fiona’s coffin into the rich earth of the family cemetery. Some families chose large mausoleums, but the Swentons believed in the old adage of “dust to dust.” John had sent an express to his maternal uncle regarding the former baroness’s internment, but the viscount had not responded; therefore, John had arranged a private acknowledgment of Lady Fiona’s position in the Swenton family. If his Uncle Farrell, Viscount Honesdale, had attended, Farrell Moraham would have insisted upon a more public passage. After the monument he had ordered had arrived, John would invite Lady Fiona’s remaining relatives to Marwood Manor to speak their proper farewells.

During those hours, the Realm’s leader also further counseled him on John’s marital dilemma. They spoke explicitly and honestly, and although John remained guardedly optimistic, he appreciated the opportunity to speak his qualms aloud. Their conversations lifted the weight of dread from John’s chest.

“I will answer any of Ashton’s enquiries. I am certain Baron Ashton will wish to settle his niece’s dowry upon you.” Pennington had volunteered to call upon Lady Swenton’s uncle in Manchester, but John had also written the man a lengthy letter explaining the details of his “speedy” courtship and the dire circumstances in which he had discovered Ashton’s niece.

John scowled. “I never thought of what Lady Swenton’s settlement might be.”

“Most surely, you did not.” Pennington chuckled. “Such mundane matters are beyond your scope of personal interactions.” The Realm’s leader laughed again at his attempt at humor. “That being said, as Ashton is part of the Realm family, he will possess many questions.”

John shook his head in disbelief. “It was a terrible day when Lachlan Charters acted without honor. His plan to capture Cashémere Aldridge changed the lives of more than a dozen others.”

“Often without lines of intelligence, we can predict what might occur, but when Ashton chose to hide what he had discovered of Charters and Samuel Aldridge, he opened Pandora’s box. I blame Baron Ashton as much as I do the Scot.”

John sighed with resignation. “I simply pray I am as successful in my marriage as are Lexford and Yardley.”

Pennington smiled easily. His countenance spoke of the man’s paternal nature. “I must call in at Berwick soon to praise Yardley’s twins.”

John perked up immediately. Despite the prospects for his future, he held no animosity toward his friends’ successes. “Thornhill did not know the names of Wellstons’ heirs, and I did not think to ask the duchess.”

“Margaret to replace the earl’s beloved ‘Maggie’ and Lionel for his father,” Pennington shared. “I suppose twins were inevitable as both the earl and the countess are doubles.”

John chuckled. “I wonder how many sets of twins the Yardleys will know.”

“Although I have a pressing appointment with the Home Secretary, if time permits, I mean to call upon Lexington Arms once I have spoken to Ashton. I have yet to hold Thomas Kimbolt. I enjoy playing doting grandfather to my men’s growing broods. Your unit is at seven and counting: Only you and Lowery have yet to know such bliss.”

“I would welcome your attentions to Rupert and any others I may be fortunate to sire.”

*

She rode in the second of the duke’s coaches, along with the duke’s valet, Mr. Monk; Judith, the duchess’s lady’s maid; and Sally, the maid assigned to the baroness. Mrs. Tailor and the boy had been left behind at Thorn Hall, but the plan was to bring Edward Fowler and Rupert to London at week’s end. It had taken Lady Swenton six days to convince her sister they must travel to London for new gowns and the duchess another two days to persuade Thornhill to agree. “I mean no more than one month, Duchess,” the duke had declared. “I will not have my son exposed to London’s filthy air for longer than a few weeks.”

Isolde despised the self-satisfied smirk gracing the baroness’s lips as Thornhill handed her into his chaise and four. When she had learned of the duke’s assent, Isolde had written Lord Swenton of the changes in his wife’s circumstances. She had slipped one of the deliverymen a coin to post the letter in the village before they departed for London. She did not approve of the role she had assumed in the “battle” between Lord and Lady Swenton, but Isolde would not permit the baroness to mark John Swenton’s reputation. In the previous six weeks, she had grown more severely devoted to the baron. Before their meeting in Vienna, she had often wondered what type of man chose to fund the household staff of a woman he affected. Now, Isolde knew: Such a man lived with honor.

The maids chattered on about London’s fineries, while Mr. Monk napped in the swaying coach beside her. Isolde had visited the English capital but once when she was fifteen. Her father had escorted her to multiple museums and lectures, and Isolde had dreamed of returning one day to experience a proper Come Out. The fact she was the daughter of an Irish baron, who was an eccentric archaeologist, had never entered into the fantasy of entrance in English Society.

“You are the fortunate one,” Sally declared. “You shall attend the balls and musicales with the baroness.”

Isolde turned to look upon the girl who had savored the opportunity to move up in Thornhill’s household. “I shall be no more important than the drapes upon the windows at each of the homes we enter,” she countered.